


Steady and Stronger

by CalicoColors



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 12:51:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18152099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalicoColors/pseuds/CalicoColors
Summary: His traitorous mind thinks back to the way Sora had swung his keyblade, violent and vicious, narrowly missing swiping his side and spilling his poisoned, traitorous insides over the sun-bleached sand. The way Riku tried to force the blade away from bashing his traitorous brains in, Sora's face close and snarlingmonsterat him over the swirling destruction. It loops on repeat no matter how hard he tries to smother it.(A good cup of tea and a listening ear are the best cures for night terrors, Riku discovers.)





	Steady and Stronger

_The Kingdom Key slams against Soul Eater with a resounding_ clang, _the sharp bit just barely brushing the top of his head. Riku winces, straining to push Sora away._

_“Stop it, Sora! Don’t you recognize me?”_

_“Yeah, I recognize you. I can see_ exactly _what you’ve become!” Sora jerks back, off-balancing Riku, and fires off a beam from the blade before Riku can recover._

_Riku falls, writhing, feeling the light’s burn skating over his blistered skin, snaking in his pores and forcing molten lava in his blood. With a shaking, red-hot hand, he wipes his mouth, streaks of smoky black blood maring his palm. He’s—no, he’s not, not anymore, it can’t be. When he hears Sora marching up to him, he drags his eyes away from the stain with horror._

_“Sora…I…” He sees nothing but coldness in that smoldering gaze._

_“Riku…how can the light hurt you?” For a moment, Sora looks broken, face screwed up in sadness. It’s quickly wiped away, replaced by malice. “You really are a creature of the dark, then…you’re not Riku anymore. You’re just some pawn of the darkness. Well, so be it; it’s time for you to face the light!”_

_With steely resolve burning in his stance, a merciless cruelty glittering in his eyes, contorting all wrong on Sora’s sweet face—he holds the keyblade up to the swirling sky and lets free a shining light from the tip._

_It fires, twirling, ready to burn whoever it touches to a blackened blight, but he can’t stop staring at Sora, looking for something,_ anything _familiar in those hollow blue eyes. He doesn’t feel the light when the it hits, still searching, desperate, then suddenly he’s_ exploding _in a roar of agony and he’s falling, falling, twisting as the dark wraps around his legs, dragging, his arms twining with shadowy sinew._

_Sora glares with hatred, screaming, tears dragging gorges on his cheeks in the black-red wildfire, and it’s true, it must be, that he’s a_ monster _—_

Riku jolts awake with a silent gasp at his lips, arms still tingling with phantom flames. He quickly flits his eyes around his surroundings, the memory of the ruined beach hanging heavy in his mind.

Instead of the dark clouds and sandstorm he expects to find, it instead looks like the bedroom they’re staying in at Yen Sid’s tower, messy and crowded with all their stuff. A few shirts are scattered on the floor, pinned down by huge textbooks, and mythril pieces spill out of a bag slouched in the far corner. There are glowing stars stuck to the ceiling and moonlight shines faintly through the window, scattering pale shadows on the walls.

He lets a shaky breath out, closing his eyes. Dreaming, again. He tries to move his arm, to make sure his skin isn’t twined with darkness or blisters, but a warm weight halts his movement.

Sora mummers in his sleep, grasping his arm tighter and drooling into the crook of his neck. The blankets are tangled up in his legs, leaving Riku with only a sliver across his abdomen to starve off the chill. Sora always runs hot, though, so the leg thrown over his waist and the arm lying across his chest keep him plenty comfortable enough.

Slowly, he runs his other hand down Sora’s back, feeling the muscles shift under his palm as it follows the curve. Snuffling, Sora shifts, a silly smile on his face as he buries his face deeper into his Riku-pillow. He wishes he could see Sora’s eyes, just for a moment, wanting to see softness and affection in his gaze instead of contempt.

Riku sighs, pulling his caressing arm away. No, Sora needs rest, not to be bothered. But Riku, in his hyper-alert state, doesn’t think he can go back to sleep. So he slowly, very slowly, untangles his limbs from Sora’s and replaces them with the blanket. He stuffs a pillow in Sora’s arms before he can start grumbling about losing his favorite cuddle-buddy.

Sora shifts again, squeezing the fabric with an iron grip, before settling in with a sigh. Soothing a hand on Sora’s brow, he tiptoes out the room and clicks the door softly shut behind him.

He wanders the halls without destination in mind. Finding anything in this tower can take hours, sometimes, too many twisting rooms that change every day guiding him in circles. Eventually the stairs lead him to the kitchen of all places. It’s empty, as it should be so late at night. Idly, he moves towards the fridge, hoping for some water to wash out the bad taste of the dream.

When he passes by the stovetop, he hears a sudden whistle. Startling, he looks down to see a brightly-colored kettle bouncing on one of the burners. It’s far from the weirdest thing to see in a sorcerer’s tower, but it’s still something he hasn’t gotten used to yet, seeing an object you’re used to, you know, _being inanimate_ dancing and singing on a regular basis. It doesn’t phase Sora, more amazed then shocked by the coat racks jumping to take their jackets or the brooms sweeping by the stairwells.

The teapot blows a puff of steam from its spout just as a mug hops down from a shelf with a teabag hanging from the lip. The teapot pours hot water in it and nudges the cup towards him. Riku blinks at it blankly at first, but gets the hint when the mug is pushed closer again, imploringly.

“Um…thank you?” He tries. The teapot whistles again and switches off. Riku hadn’t really wanted tea, but has a feeling the pot wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.

He hunches over the table as he settles on a stool, letting the sweet tea aroma fill the room with calming, vanilla-tinged scents. A clock ticks softly on the wall, the little hand spinning around the dial with a bluebird twirling on the stem. It’s dead quiet aside from that, leaving him alone with only the tea and himself for company.

The silence starts to dig at him as he picks at the skin around his nails. When takes a sip of the tea, it burns honey-sweet on his tongue, refreshing and leafy, warmth spreading through his core.

The only light is from the dim overhead ones blinking yellow like fireflies, bright enough to see from here to the hallways but not strong enough to blind him. It reminds him of that glow in Sora’s eyes, holy yellow shining in the blue, so bright he could barely look because he, the dark monster, can’t live in the light.

At heart, he’s made his peace with the dark a long time ago, knowing that he can control it, that he’s not going to let it overtake him again. He knows he can walk the line between night and day and be all the more stronger for it.

But Riku’s mind never does him any favors. All his life, his thoughts had chased him in corners, whispering lies and doubts and fears into his weak, vulnerable mind. From the crushing, small islands to the vast, empty dark realm, his conscience has never been able to settle on anything _good_ and _right._ He’s an infuriating, obnoxious burden that can never move on and never stop thinking useless thoughts. Every single time he brings it up he knows how stupid it is, how much he hates thinking about it, how much he truly means it. He’s just waiting for the day when everyone finally gets sick of him and forces him away, what he _deserves_ —

Riku shakes his head with a groan. “Stupid,” he mutters under his breath.

Sora would kick his ass if he said that out loud, wearing that disapproving frown he saves for special occasions. No, actually, he would likely listen to him ramble for a while, and then, when he’s worn out from overthinking, carefully dismantle his doubts so there’s nothing left but light and love until the next time. He somehow always knows what to say and when to say it.

They’ve talked for hours about this before, discussing their fears and worries and, hesitantly, the past. He’s come a long way from the emotionally-stunted overconfident kid he once was, arrogantly thinking he can change the world.

Yet that dream Sora, that sun-bright hero striking him down into oblivion, snarling and snapping, that Sora is still stark in his mind telling him that he’s never changed and never will. He _hates it_ , he hates how his stupid, idiotic mind _keeps doing this_ to him. He hates how he flinches at the memories and twists at the fear; he needs to _let it go already,_ so he can be someone worthwhile again.

And he _knows_ it was all a trick, that it was Zexion messing with his mind just like everything else in that castle, but that doesn’t mean that it still doesn’t hurt. It was one of those great fears buried so deep inside your soul that you desperately, truly, never want to ever see come to life. It was one reason why he only helped from the shadows, after Sora woke up; he didn’t want to risk seeing Sora turn away from him with scorn and despise his existence ever again.

Having those thoughts dragged out kicking and screaming and paraded in his face was one of the worst moments of his life, and that's saying a lot. Having it be twisted even further in his nightmares was even worse. Seeing Sora's face, lip curled in disgust, features sharp and shadowed as he looks down at him as if he was looking at trash, the way Sora had never, ever looked at anyone, not ever...Riku huffs and takes another sip of tea.

If only he could go back in time to cut the old Organization XIII down again. _Never again,_ he vows.

He’s jolted out of his stupor when he feels a hand grasp his shoulder. Riku whirls around to see Sora rubbing at his eyes, half-asleep. Riku isn’t proud of the way his heart jumps at the sight, not all in a good way, but he’s wearing those hideous pajamas that Kairi got him for Christmas last year and it’s so _Sora_ that it melts the doubt away that this could be anyone else. No fake Sora would be caught dead wearing pants covered in neon yellow cheese wedges.

"Hey, where'd you go?" Sora mumbles. Riku blinks, trying to think of something benign that Sora would settle for. No need to pile on his issues right now; Sora needs to focus on training and resting than worrying about whatever ridiculous thoughts are running through Riku's mind.

"Uh...just, wanted some tea," Riku says, and winces. It's a lame, weak excuse, but his mind just isn’t working at 100% right now, still too focused on running circles around his past.

Sora squints, pulling his hand away to rub at his eyes a little harder. When he looks again, it’s with a clearer gaze. "At 1 am?"

"The teapot insisted," Riku claims, nodding to the kettle on the stove, already steaming to prepare for another cup when it saw another guest enter the room. Sora laughs and slides into the seat beside him.

"Wow, letting a _teapot_ force you into a midnight tea party. How the mighty have fallen," Sora teases, butting his shoulder with his own. Riku huffs.

" _You_ try arguing with it, then. It's a very demanding teapot."

A mug bounces up to Sora, filled to the brim with hot tea. Sora sits up a little straighter. "Thank you!" he says with a grin. The kettle whistles twice in response and settles back on the stovetop in expectation for any more tea-drinking needs.

Sora picks up the mug with both hands and holds it close to his face to feel the steam. Riku glances at him from the side, watching the way he hums in simple bliss as he admires the drink. He tries to engrave this Sora in his mind, the one with sparking wonder in his eyes and a joyful smile at the ready, to carve out that imposing imposer still glaring daggers from the inside that blazing supernova.

But the way the shadows dance in the dim light of the kitchen doesn’t completely chase away his dark thoughts. Riku picks up his own mug by the handle, sensibly, and swirls his half-full cup, looking for something that isn’t really there.

From his peripheral, he sees Sora pause, and Riku knows that he's not fooling anyone tonight. "So why are you _really_ out here, drinking..." Sora takes a sip, smacking his lips to try and tone down the heat, "....chamomile tea so late at night?"

Riku keeps his eyes on his mug, tapping the side with an off-beat rhythm. "I can't get myself something to drink?" he tries one more time. Sora gives him a Look.

"The oh-so-demanding teapot got that for you, Riku, don't even try," Sora snorts, but quickly switches back to his imploring gaze. "C'mon, spill the beans, what's got you so riled up? It was lonely without you there to steal all of the covers."

" _You're_ the one that steals them all," Riku quips automatically, and finally turns towards him fully. Sora sticks his tongue out. His bed hair is messier than ever, sticking up in big uneven chunks on one side and sitting flat as a board on the other. Riku wants to reach out and ruffle it to try and fix it, even though he knows it's a futile effort. Instead, he just wraps his hand tighter around the mug handle and picks at his nails a little harder.

His traitorous mind thinks back to the way Sora had swung his keyblade, violent and vicious, narrowly missing swiping his side and spilling his poisoned, traitorous insides over the sun-bleached sand. The way Riku tried to force the blade away from bashing his traitorous brains in, Sora's face close and snarling _monster_ at him over the swirling destruction. It loops on repeat no matter how hard he tries to smother it.

Sora must have seen something in his stare because he pursues his lips and scoots closer. Riku looks slightly to the left of him and curses his stupid eyes, never knowing how to hide anything in them.

It's times like this when he misses his long hair, when his bangs could cover up whatever secrets glowed neon on his face. But feeling the breeze on the back of his neck, or not having his hair get in his mouth in the middle of battle, or the way Sora had pulled at the cut locks and said _it looks so good on you! I missed seeing your eyes_ —well, that made up for it.

Riku swallows, feeling his throat lock up, unable to force any words out. He just...can't bother anyone with this. It's his stupid problem, his stupid issues, and all the other stupid nonsense that comes with being around him. He doesn’t want to see Sora's face twist in horror while Riku recounts the memory of nearly dying under his imposter’s hand, or getting indignant at the thought that he still doesn’t forgive him even after all these years.

In his heart, Riku _knows_ that Sora wouldn’t, he _knows_ , but he also knows better than anyone that dreams are powerful forces that can chew you up from the inside out, and he just isn’t ready to let go of the memory of that fake, cruel Sora when it’s still so fresh in his mind.

(The night terrors preyed heavily on his deepest darkest fears. The fear of the darkness overtaking his mind again, of losing feeling in his body to give way to a buzzing numbness, of watching himself become something else as he can do nothing but scream soundlessly in his abyssal prison. The fear of losing himself to another dark presence, to giving up, to flaking apart in the darkness like ash while his body grins with evil intent.

Forgetting everyone. Losing everyone. Watching as they're all slain one by one as he's pinned, weak and powerless, keyblade broken and tossed aside like trash. Watching their lights go out, moving up towards the sky, as the tendrils from the underdark drag him down, down, down below the viscous waves.

Reaching, begging, screaming. Hand outstretched, running, desperate, trying to catch up to them all but only being pushed farther and farther away. Their eyes glowing like the sun, blinding, reaching—pushing, slicing, tearing at his useless, cowardly self.

He's cut into ribbons, cracked bit by bit, mangled to splatters, and it's agonizing blinding deafening, but he doesn’t deserve to so much as whimper. Roaring cheers from everyone he's ever loved. At the forefront of them all, blade pointed down, his most precious light screeches _I hate you I hate you I hate you I never loved you traitor liar killer monster monster_ monster _—_

He saw that his own eyes were black with sin in the water's reflection just before the blade pierced his chest.)

Riku takes another sip of lukewarm tea, staring at nothing. He doesn’t realize his hands are shaking until they're covered by Sora's warm ones.

"Hey, I get dreams too," Sora says. "It's...I mean, they're not great, but they're _normal,_ you know? We've been through some pretty big stuff."

He knows. Many times, Riku has helped calm Sora down from shrieking terrors in the middle of the night. There have been sleepless nights where Sora had jolted awake, keyblade in hand, keeping vigil for the heartless hordes he thought had manifested from his memories.

He's had both silent and sobbing tears soaked into his shoulder during a few bad nights, where they joked afterwards about designating one of his shirts as an emergency tears-and-snot tissue after how much abuse it’s been put through.

The worst one had been when Sora had gone cationic, where he stared at the wall with a dull, empty look, blank and sightless and hollow, and nothing Riku or Kairi or anyone else he called to help tried could snap him out of it until hours later. Sora said he didn’t remember much from that night, only the creeping dread, but he couldn’t shake the haunted look for the rest of the day.

Riku's developed a type of sixth sense for knowing when Sora is in distress; probably somewhat from the whole dream eater business, somewhat more so from growing up with him, and mostly from love. It goes both ways, though. The same reason Riku is inexplicably woken in the night when Sora's brows twist in nightmare panic, or when he gets a sudden bad feeling from a few worlds over, is the same reason why Sora is out in the kitchen at one in morning with him right now. His stupid, traitorous heart just can’t leave well enough alone.

Sora rubs a thumb over his knuckles, calming. Two of his fingers have little bandaids stuck around them. One of them shows a few princesses, Jasmine's hair most distinctive from the angle he’s looking from, and the other has a bunch of little rainbow Mickey heads patterned on it.

He remembers bandaging them up himself yesterday, when Sora had nicked his hand from slipping off a chipped doorframe of all things. Pouting, Sora had held his hand up, limp as if it were broken, glancing up from under his lashes as Riku had smeared disinfectant on it. _Kiss it better?_ he said once Riku stuck the bandaids on, using those eyes he so loves but can’t stand how they can make him do literally anything. Riku had rolled his eyes but obliged; one on each sticker, and one for good luck right on Sora's smiling lips.

It's those moments that remind him of the present. The strength to protect what matters, that’s what’s truly important and what he focuses on first and foremost. And on the cloudy days when the past bogs him down, when he wakes up and feels the weight of the world drag down his shoulders and numb his mind, he knows he'll have friends and allies by his side to support him, the way they always have even when he was too blind to see it.

He knows Naminé will sit with him for hours, sketching idly as he dozes and watches the sky, reveling in the simple companionship. Lea will train with him until his muscles are jelly and his bones sawdust, knocking his head over as they argue over the score. Kairi forces him out of the tower on days he can barely move, encourages him into a quiet picnic on the beach and makes him some tea— _chamomile, for relaxation,_ she said, probably where the teapot got it from.

Through it all, Sora is always there, ever-present and brilliant. They know each other’s worst moments and their bests, share nearly all their secrets, never kept apart for long—hell, they found themselves accidentally starting and finishing each other’s sentences the other day, which Kairi mocked them endlessly for and caused Riku to blush cherry-red.

What's there to be afraid of, anymore?

"It's...remembering Castle Oblivion. There was...it was a lot." It's hard to talk past the lump in his throat, still. He finishes off his tea, hoping to ease it away.

“Ah,” Sora says, furrowing his brows. Riku knows he still doesn’t remember much from his time there, only snippets. He’s asked about it, and Riku’s told him the most important information, but he hasn’t talked about it in detail. For some reason, he has this fear that if he tells too much, Sora will remember it all at once and fall back asleep for another long year, except this time he won’t wake up.

For someone so hellbent on protecting others, he sure has a lot of ridiculous fears he hasn’t been able to shake. Riku huffs a little, feeling anger bubble in his chest.

“It’s stupid. It’s really stupid. I’m just really—”

“Hey,” Sora says sternly. “Don’t say that. You know that’s not true.” He squeezes his hands, his dark freckles stark against Riku’s pale, chill skin. There’s a scar on the back of his hand, faint hairline swoop cutting through a few speckles. Riku lets out a breath, trying to force the self-inflicted anger out with it.

“Sorry. It was so long ago, though, and most of it was all fake mind-tricks. I don’t know, it just kind of…hit me tonight, I guess. Added on to everything else…” he lets his voice trail off. The teapot clanks its way over. “Oh, I think we’re good, uh, thank you.”

The teapot whistles loudly, steam shooting out of its spout so fast that he flinches back a bit. It clatters over to the mugs and pointedly refills them with a fresh batch of tea. The teapot beeps twice again and clinks off, a little harsher than last time. Sora blinks.

“I see what you mean by demanding,” Sora says. “Guess we’re having tea whether we like it or not, huh?”

“Well, it is supposed to be a cure-all, I suppose,” Riku says, taking a sip. Secretly, he feels warm not just from the tea, but from the pot’s fussing, too.

_Or_ , he looks to the side, _maybe not just the teapot_.

He doesn’t wait for Sora to ask him to continue, feeling brave enough to uncork his bottle of emotions by himself tonight.

“There was a moment that I thought I was back at the islands. Everyone was there, just like normal, Wakka and Kairi and everyone was safe. Even the breeze felt real. But when I tried to talk to them, and they just…stared. Like they didn’t recognize me. Or, like they didn’t care. And then they disappeared.” Riku’s voice sounds deadly calm, a far cry from the twisting of his stomach building nausea in his throat. He can’t look Sora in the eyes, but that’s okay because his thumbs are still gently stroking the backs of his hands.

“Then everything else was gone with them, too, like that time when I…opened the door. To darkness. And, you were there, but it wasn’t you. It was Zexion, I know that, but…I thought, it might have been. If I ever saw the real you again, it might have been you. I still had darkness in me, and if you saw that then you, you would…”

He’s butchering his words, repeating them over and over nonsensically, dancing around the meaning. The stroking stops, and he feels his calm snap a little and the loathing start to overflow.

“I deserved it. I never deserved your forgiveness in the first place. If that was you, if I knew for sure that was the true you, I would have let it happen. I’d rather die then live as a monster, and if you said that—” stop talking, stop talking, you’re saying too much, it’s too late at night for this, stop being an _idiot, “—_ then it’s true, right, I’m just some mindless pawn of darkness who deserves to be forgotten and gutted like an animal—”

“Stop, please, stop _.”_ Riku cuts off his rambling with a click of teeth as his jaw snaps shut. Now both his and Sora’s hands are shaking in their clasp, jittering against the mugs. Horrified, he looks up to see Sora welling up with tears. His nausea multiples tenfold as his stomach bottoms out to his feet, heart stopping and blood rushing cold.

“I’m sorry, please don’t cry, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry I said all that—” he rushes to please, to explain, to wipe that expression off Sora’s face, hating that he was the cause of it. Sora sniffs and rubs at his eyes, refusing to let go of his hands so it smears both their joined palms with tears.

_This_ is why he doesn’t like to talk about himself and his fucked-up issues. Outside, he’s the constant protector, a powerful rock and a brave face that he doesn’t let waver when someone is in danger. Inside, Riku is a complete disaster, too many years of too many mistakes stacking up so high that it keeps tipping over when he’s left on his own. It overwhelms and fills his head with nonsense that he just can’t shake.

But he can _handle it_ on his own, okay, his (many, many) issues are not the worst compared to others and to top it all off they’re ridiculous as well. Everyone worries about the present and the future and other important things like that, but Riku has never stopped looking back and thinking about what could have been.

Sora takes a deep, grounding breath. His eyes are sharp and determined and, god, they’re endlessly, infinitely blue. Blue like the ocean water and just as deep, as if he could sink in them and drown in its warmth, that far-reaching love he never asked for but still received unconditionally sinking in his very bones.

“You did mean that, and that’s okay, that’s _good._ Riku, I’m _so glad_ you told me. But Riku, you just have to know that it isn’t true, okay? You have to know that we care so much for you. I would never, ever say that, not in a billion years, and,” he says a little louder when he sees Riku open his mouth to retort, “ _I know_ that you know, but I think that you need to hear it. You’re not weak or stupid for thinking this way. Your _completely_ _understandable_ fears don’t make you lesser, either. You matter, your feelings matter, and you deserve forgiveness, Riku.

“I don’t care if you fall in darkness a hundred times. I’ll always be there to pull you out. We’ll make some, some crazy human chain to grab you no matter how deep you fall. I’ll hold on to Kairi’s hand and Lea, he’s the tallest so we’ll make him stand in the back—”

Riku can’t help but give a gross, watery snort at the imagery of this chain of dignified keyblade warriors all linking hands like kindergarteners to pull him out of a knee-high ditch or something. Sora grins a bit, encouraged.

Still, he grabs his shoulders with a sturdy, serious look. “It’s never going to happen, you know. We’re never going to give up on you, just as I know you’ll never give up on us. And I’ll remind you of that every single day if I have to. You’re never going to be forgotten or left behind, Riku. We’ll figure it out together, no matter what it is or how long it takes.”

Sometimes Riku is a little freaked out by Sora’s scarily-accurate mind-reading abilities, but mostly he’s just _grateful_. Sora just _understands._ It doesn’t drive away his fears for good or cure all his problems, but it’s so, so nice to just hear those reassuring words from someone that cares and listens and stays by his side through it all.

Head muddled and heavy, Riku tips to the side, leaning on Sora’s shoulder as one of Sora’s arms comes to wrap around his back, head resting on top of his. The witching hour is one of the few times he feels safe enough to let go, when he knows no one besides him (and Sora today, he supposes) is awake to see him crack.

He hides his face in Sora’s shirt sleeve, counting the clock ticks over Sora’s soft breathes and his shaky exhales. Sora switches between rubbing his arm when he hears Riku’s voice hitch and gently tapping his fingers on Riku’s ribs like a xylophone while he patiently waits for Riku to come back to reality.

When he finally composes himself enough to sit back up, he doesn’t know how long it’s been, but the crick in his neck is telling enough. Sora is finishing off the tea, his own cup drained as he steals the rest of Riku’s. Riku nudges him, mock offended, causing Sora to chug the last dregs just to prove a point.

Sora stretches one of his arms above his head, popping his spine with a jaw-cracking yawn and squeezing Riku’s side with the other. Riku wants to apologize for keeping him up so late but thinks better of it, knowing exactly what Sora is going to say.

Instead, he says, “Thank you, Sora. I…really, really appreciate you. So much.” He can’t get the words right, still feeling too raw, but he hopes that his expression gets the meaning across.

Sora’s eyes glitter dangerously again, but he’s smiling so hard that it’s clear he’s far from sad. Instead of responding, he tilts forward and touches his forehead to Riku’s. Riku stares at his eyelids in a daze, heartbeat speeding up, skin warming to a flush. Even after months together, Sora still has this effect on his sanity in the best possible way.

“Thank you for trusting me enough to talk to me,” Sora says softly, before he ruins the moment by pinching his cheeks. “Stop being so cute, ugh, you’re the worst!”

“ _Me?”_ Riku says incredulously. How can Sora say that when he’s standing _right there_ with the world’s ugliest pajamas and most adorable frown? God, _god,_ Riku loves him.

Sora pinches a bit harder in retaliation. “And stop trying to do everything on your own! Don’t make me repeat myself again! Wake me up next time, please, or else I’m just gonna get lost trying to find you.”

Riku rubs his aching cheeks, laughing a little. “Okay, okay! I promise I’ll let you know.” He looks around. The empty mugs sit forgotten and he can see the kettle is rearing up for another round of tea party time at 3 am. “We should head back to bed before the teapot rushes us again.”

Sora eyes widen, quickly glancing over and grabbing his hand. “Yup, lets go, lets go now, thank you so much for the tea Mr.—Mrs.? Uh, Your Tea-lightful Grace, it was delicious, we-have-to-go-now-bye!”

And they run out of the room right as they hear two loud puffs of steam pop from the stove in indignation as its two favorite people to fuss over leave with a bounce in their steps.

“Tea-lightful, really?” Riku mutters under his breath, snorting. Sora puffs out his cheeks.

“I was in a rush, okay! Let’s see you try and do better.”

Riku considers it up until they manage to find their bedroom again. “…brew-tea-ful.”

Sora stops with one foot in the room, smacking his hand on the doorjamb. “I missed my chance. Darn it. That would have worked so much better, I’m _so_ mad.” The dorky smile on his face betrays his true feelings, though. Riku laughs and sideswipes him around the middle, dragging him to the bed.

They settle in, fighting over who gets the bigger half of bedspread even though they both know they’re going to hog each other’s personal space as much as humanly possible. Eventually they settle similar to how they started, tangled up together on the soft bed with their limbs askew and blanket thrown over their hips. Riku feels relaxed and whole, eyelids starting to droop, exhausted after the night’s whirlwind and not afraid of what dreams may come. He presses his lips to Sora’s forehead, hearing Sora hum at the attention, pleased.

“Steep tight, Sora.” He feels Sora wiggle his hand out from where it’s pinned between them to smack him. “Tea you tomorrow.”

“Oh, my god, shut _up.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man. This is some of the strongest dialogue I’ve ever written. I wrote this on a 2 am bender trying desperately to escape term paper hell, and I’m actually really impressed with myself. Anyways, I just finished KH2 and I love Riku a lot. I also love fluff with just a dash of angst, so I had the most perfect combination in mind.
> 
> This is probably set somewhere after/during DDD (which I haven’t played yet shhh), where everyone hangs out at Yen Sid’s tower and talks about their feelings. I don’t know, the timeframe is vague, I’m just posting this as quick as possible before I lose my nerve and store it in my writing graveyard out of sheer embarrassment. Sorry if the details are wrong, I’m just going based off knowledge my friends have told me because I don’t want to look up spoilers for the games I haven’t played yet.
> 
> Title is from “Steady and Stronger” by Shelby Merry. Very nice song, I highly recommend her work, she’s very talented.


End file.
